


not a victim of a victim's life

by chraezanty17



Series: Hunger Games Tributes: On Caesar Flickerman [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 65th Hunger Games, AUish?, Missing Scene, Platonic Relationships, altered timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chraezanty17/pseuds/chraezanty17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't do anything stupid for my sake."</p><p>"It's like you don't know me at all."</p><p>"I don't, really."</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a victim of a victim's life

**Author's Note:**

> The title is made up of lyrics from the song "Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back" by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> The timeline is messed up in this. According to canon, Finnick won the 65th Games while Johanna won the 71st. Let's pretend she won hers before Finnick competed in his and they spent some time together during training for the 65th Games while Johanna was forced to mentor two unfortunate souls from her District. I need this interview to exist as my headcanon.

"Please welcome your host, ladies and gentlemen: _Caesar Flickerman_!"

Johanna Mason steps onto the stage's podium and looks around the glorious auditorium. It is packed with people frantically waving and all but  _begging_  to be made fun of.

_Why do the Capitol residents think they are superior to those from District 7 again? Turquoise skin, drinking potions to make you throw up so you can cheerily stuff yourself in unhealthy measure while the rest of Panem is starving?_

_Oh, that's right._ She meets Caesar halfway, allowing him to kiss her hand. The old victor smiles cooly, outwardly soaking up the attention as the audience's cheers become a deafening roar when meanwhile it becomes increasingly harder to swallow her anger. Anger at the Capitol, at President Snow, at her stylist from two years before (trees,  _again_ ), at Finnick for carrying on the bloody Career tradition to volunteer.

("Why did you do it?"

"They would have picked Annie's brother."

"So?"

"She deserves to have her family live."

And that was that.)

She bites her tongue, drawing blood, but at least she manages to keep her mouth shut.  _I'd still love to tell all of them that we would use their priceless designer costumes as rags at the most even if they begged us on their knees to accept them. We have pride and a sense of self-consciousness. Telling Snow to go fuck himself would also be great._

Johanna graces a little violet-skinned girl, who seems to be a special fan, with a wave and grin. Her repulsion and disgust at the whole affair contrasted with the girl's innocence only allows for old frustrations and misery to resurface, so she grits her teeth and concentrates on the task at hand: doing a friend a favor. She is free to throw herself a spectacular pity party later.

"So, Johanna! We haven't heard from you in quite a while. What have you been up to? Any breathtaking romance worth mentioning?" Caesar winks at her, leading her to the two armchairs appearing in the middle of the stage out of thin air.

The woman in question sits down and suppresses a laugh. It would have been a guttural and unpleasant sound, but then again it at least would have been honest. Unlike the clear, high-pitched sound which comes out of her mouth. She feels like she has swallowed helium.

"Oh, believe me, no one could ever expect a guy to put up with me."

_Everybody avoids me, expecting a cold-blooded killer. A ticking time bomb endangering the whole of District 7. They celebrate my victory and claim to be proud, even bragging, but a romance? Becomes impossible the second you hear your name being called at the Reaping, followed by silence as no one volunteers to take your place. Doesn't matter if you end up dead or alive._

Caesar manages to calm down his now maniacally laughing viewers by responding. "I don't think this is true, but let's not linger here."

("You asked me out to win a bet?"

"Yeah. It was worth the fifty bucks, but, no offense, I don't need a repeat performance of last night.")

"We all know why you are here tonight. You seem to get along with Finnick Odair-" The deafening roar starts again, only it is increased by a thousandfold. Johanna thinks she can see a sympathetic glint in Caesar's eyes - he is probably annoyed by his interview soon being cut for time. This triviality -  _excuse me, his grave problem_  - is nearly enough for her to stop her blood from boiling at every reminder of the Games' existence. Never really enough.

"Just fine." Her host finishes as if nothing had happened.

Johanna shrugs. "Yes, I suppose so. He's one of the good ones." _Which does not mean a whole lot among this company, by all means._

("Good luck, kid."

"Aren't you supposed to root for one of your tributes?"

"Aren't you supposed to go to school and have fun? You're fourteen.")

"Since you have won the 63rd Games and have become an expert on these things, do you have any predictions for us? He's only fourteen, after all. Does he have any chance of becoming the victor?" Caesar asks. Meanwhile, the crowd of mindless barbarians goes wild again, soaking up every word that stands in any relation to Finnick.

She keeps her head up high, never once backing down. The Capitol had wanted to break her once and had not succeeded - she would never let that change. They had no control, much as they talked themselves into believing this nonsense. "Judging the obsession everyone seems to have with him, he's about set to survive. As handsome and athletic as he is, there is no way people are going to let him die unless they want riots and insane fans murdering the Games Maker. Also, his age doesn't matter. A sword doesn't exactly make a distinction between a twelve-year-old and an eighteen-year-old. Weapons slice through all of their heads just the same. Blood is blood."

Johanna pauses and puts on her best concerned expression.

"Is everything alright, Caesar?" She asks, sarcasm dripping from her words as she watches with malicious glee as he has become more and more pale with every sentence she has uttered.

His daze does not last long. "Perfectly. Finnick seems confident enough and is one of the favorites, hm? Obviously, I'm not taking any sides, folks! Still, no matter what happens, we wish both Mr Odair and Miss Mason all the luck in the world!"

A flash of his brilliant smile is enough for the atmosphere to change - taut at the rebellious assertion, cheery the next moment.

The crowd roars in blind agreement as a lilac-haired man does everything but shoo Johanna off the stage. Whoever's in charge of Capitol PR is going to have a field day with this television spot.

("Don't do anything stupid for my sake."

"It's like you don't know me at all."

"I don't, really.")

She smiles to herself. Cleaning her face of multiple layers of makeup, she feels better than she has in days, adrenaline rushing through her body.

The interview would be memorable, get Finnick even more sponsors than he already had and majorly anger President Snow. Mission Accomplished.

And if she happened to get a visit from a few violent gentlemen working for the authorities and she wouldn't be able to walk for months afterwards, well, then that was just too fucking bad.


End file.
